


If you wish it

by fromthedeskoftheraven



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, F/M, Fluff, Love Confessions, Quest of Erebor, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 09:53:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7797241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromthedeskoftheraven/pseuds/fromthedeskoftheraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A borrowed coat leads to sleepy cuddles with Dwalin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If you wish it

It was a bedraggled group that piled into a musty cave that evening. The cave was neither large nor particularly clean, but it was at least mercifully dry, and with various sighs and groans and irritated mutterings, the Company spread out as well as they could to arrange their bedrolls.

After claiming a little nook for yourself, you shed your sodden cloak, boots, and outer clothes and began to unload your pack, finding to your dismay that the unrelenting rain had worked its way through your belongings to dampen your one set of spare clothes. 

“Wonderful,” you groused under your breath, shaking out the linen tunic and draping it over a spur of rock to hang dry, and you had just moved on to the trousers when there was a gruff voice at your elbow.

“Take this, lass.”

You turned to find Dwalin, stripped to his own tunic and trousers and holding out his heavy coat toward you.

“Oh, no, Dwalin, I couldn’t,” you protested. “You’ll need it.”

“You’ll need it more,” he chuckled, lightly thumping his chest with a brawny fist. “We dwarves are made of sterner stuff than you gentle folk.”

You couldn’t help but smile, yourself, at the way the term meant as an insult when he’d used it to describe Bilbo back in Bag End had come to sound like an endearment when he directed it at you. Before you could object any further, he had pressed the coat into your hands and waved off your thanks before turning to lay out his bedroll nearby.

The coat nearly swallowed you when you slipped your arms into its sleeves, but the weight of the thick fabric was comforting, and as you lay down, snuggling into it like a cocoon, warmth began to creep from your core to your chilled limbs.

It was a far cry from the soft featherbeds of home, but a sigh of relaxation passed your lips nevertheless while you gazed up at the craggy stone ceiling. You heard Dwalin’s weary grunt, stretching out on his bedroll, and turned to look at him, lying on his back with his fingers laced over his chest and his eyes already falling closed.

“Thank you, Dwalin,” you whispered, and he turned his head in your direction, his forbidding expression softening with a pleased smile.

“You’re welcome, lassie,” he murmured, adding as if on a sudden impulse, **“my clothes look really good on you.”**

You only giggled shyly, thoroughly taken aback, and twin spots of color rose in Dwalin’s cheeks as he cleared his throat and hurriedly made to turn to his side.

“G’night,” he muttered, and his broad back faced you like a wall, declaring the conversation closed.

“Good night,” you answered, turning your eyes back to the ceiling and finding yourself unable to smother a secretive, delighted smile.

* * *

Your first conscious thoughts as you drifted from sleep to wakefulness were that you were warmer than you’d been in ages and that the borrowed coat had seemed to become even heavier.

Upon opening your eyes you saw, first, that the little sliver of sky visible through the trees at the cave’s mouth was still black and sprinkled with stars, and second, in the dim light of the lantern that kept Bifur company on the watch, that Dwalin’s burly arm was draped comfortably across your middle. Though an amused grin crossed your lips, there was also an odd, elated trembling in your stomach – as though you’d swallowed one of the moths that always swooped around the campfire – and as you looked into his face, so calm and carefree in repose, you found yourself wishing that this embrace had not been merely an accident of sleeping in close quarters.

As though your thoughts had reached him in his sleep, Dwalin’s eyes fluttered open and a fond smile creased his cheeks as his unfocused gaze found your face. He blinked once, twice, three times, his attention sharpening as he came fully awake, and suddenly confusion and mortification washed over his face in quick succession. He drew back his arm like he’d touched a hot stove, flushing to the tips of his ears, and reflexively glanced around the cave at the rest of the sleeping Company.

“I’m heartily sorry,” he said, in anguished whisper. “I must’ve done it in my sleep…didn’t know what I was doing…you _must_ believe I’d sooner pluck out my beard than take advantage of a woman, I–”

“Dwalin,” you interjected, putting a finger to his lips in an effort to end his misery, and he fell silent, though his eyes still pleaded with you. “I believe you. And you needn’t apologize. If I’m being honest, it was…nice.”

“Nice?” Was that a glimmer of hope in his voice, or had you only imagined it?

“Mm-hmm,” you confessed bashfully. “The truth of it is, I would gladly have slept in your arms long before now, if you wished it.”

“If I wished…” Dwalin trailed off, his wide-eyed expression transformed by an appreciative grin. “Oh, my beauty. Come here.”

You moved close to him, turning to rest your back against the firm, muscled warmth of his chest, and found yourself enveloped in strong arms as he drew you snugly into his embrace, whispering, “you’ll sleep safe and warm now, _ghivâshel_.”

* * *

The chirping of birds reached your ears, coaxing you awake, and the sky outside had lightened to the pearly gray that anticipates dawn’s riotous pinks and golds.

You smiled at the sight of Dwalin’s broad forearm resting on your waist, his huge hand holding your smaller one in a protective grasp. Your eyes wandered over the runes tattooed in dark ink on his hands and fingers, and with your free hand, you gently traced them with your fingertip in fascination. 

Behind you, a quaking in Dwalin’s chest roused you from your examination, and you craned your neck to see him, eyes still closed, his beard twitching with silent laughter.

**“You’re ticklish,”** you accused, with a mischievous smirk.

“Only in the right hands, love,” he whispered, and you giggled quietly, lifting his hand to smooth his fingers flat over your palm.

“What do they mean?”

He snuggled closer, nuzzling into your hair so that his whiskers tickled the shell of your ear as he murmured, “this one is _Baruk Khazâd_. It means ‘axes of the dwarves.’“

“ _Baruk Khazâd_ ,” you repeated softly.

Dwalin nodded approvingly and turned to lie on his back, bringing you with him so that your head rested on his shoulder as he raised both hands above you. “And the other is _Khazâd ai-mênu_ , ‘the dwarves are upon you.’“

“Fitting, for a warrior so fierce,” you smiled.

You moved to lie on your side to face him, drawing his coat cozily about you, resting your palm on his chest while his arms closed around you again, and he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. 

“I don’t want to get up,” you lamented. “I haven’t slept so well since we left the Shire.”

“Don’t you worry, my lass,” Dwalin smiled tenderly. “You can sleep in my arms all the way to Erebor, and longer than that…if you wish it.”


End file.
